


Awakening

by ilaiza



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Stiles Stilinski, Happy Ending, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapping, Mentions of Violence, stiles can't stop talking to save his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilaiza/pseuds/ilaiza
Summary: When the dead pool came out, Stiles is taken and tortured. His escape awakened something in him.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	1. Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this while long time ago. I think apart from having a dead pool there are some details that are not consistent with the series. Also, there is no graphic description of violence, it is just mentioned to add a plot. No beta!

“My friend got bitten by a werewolf and hates it. Then we met Derek Hale who scares the shit out of me, still! I got threatened, shot, slammed into doors, and Peter, Derek’s deranged uncle, almost did bite me. I got chased by hunters, by asshole Jackson who was a freaking lizard thingy, by more werewolves and now this. Kidnapping! This is a thing I’ll cross off my bucket list. Where in Derek’s werewolf ass are we? Why does it always have to be a creepy old house and not a mall or the park? You guys seriously need to work on your hiding place! And on my God, I am going to die a virgin!”

“Someone please make him shut up!” One of Stiles’ kidnappers was walking around holding his head and rubbing his temples. The kid was giving all of them a headache and doesn’t he want to shut up, like now?

“Not that I don’t want to be a werewolf but the moon and the nails and the hair it is just awful, man. Not that you can understand me you hairy pup you. Hey here is a joke for you: you caught a human, not a hairy eye glowing beast. Isn’t that funny? Now let me go.” 

Stiles froze as he heard footsteps coming from behind him. A man placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing the muscle underneath his fingers. His other hand went to Stiles’ cheek turning his head around. Stiles felt the man breathing on his ear. 

“Who is your Alpha?” The man asked slowly, voice rough, threatening. His hot breath sending chills up and down Stiles’ spine. „I asked who is you Alpha?” The man repeated the question trough his teeth, patience – not his strong point.

“Dude, you kidnapped me just to ask who the alpha is?” Stiles forced out a laugh. The man in the corner threw him a nasty glare. The distant sound of fingers popping reached Stiles’ ears. “Man and I thought Scott is dense. You sure you guys are werewolves? Because you might want to go to the doggy clinic and check if your senses are working right. I can recommend a guy.” Stiles just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“We are not talking about Hale.” The guy in front of Stiles said taking a few steps forward closer to Stiles. “We can smell it on you.” He leaned over his eyes flashing red.

“Oh, you poor pup! I am so very sorry but you kind of kidnapped me before I could shower. So it’s your fault I smell.” The guy looked down at Stiles. His face contorted in a crooked smile before his fist collided with the boy’s jaw. He repeated the action a few times just to be sure Stiles didn’t say a word out of line.

“Not the alpha of the werewolves. No!” The man ran his nose over Stiles’ neck breathing in deep. “We can smell it on you. Your magic. Raw and untamed it’s beautiful.” Smelling the power crawling along the boy’s skin electrifying the wolf’s senses, his eyes flashing red. “Tell us who your master is and we might let you go alive.”

“Ok, first this is really creepy and second you got me confused with someone else. I sit on the bench all year. I don’t hang out with the cool kids. The only magical thing about me is hacking the police’s database. I am very proud of myself. And take your wet nose out of my neck.” Stiles tried to shake off the man but his head was grabbed. His mouth going dry, as he tried to swallow the fear. The werewolf stood back grinning at Stiles. He swung his fist again getting satisfaction from Stiles’ pained hiss. 

“Listen here, kid, no one is coming to rescue you. So either you tell us who your master is or we will kill you. Which one do you choose?” He ran a claw down Stiles’ cheek.

“Oh, God! Please don’t kill me!” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to die.

“Well, kid, if that’s what you want.”

When Stiles woke up he was alone, his kidnappers gone. It reeked of moist rust and blood. The piercing smell was so strong it forced a coughing fit out of Stiles. He looked around but the only thing he could distinguish were the lines and curves of the walls. The movement bringing his attention to the throbbing pain in his cheeks and eyes, his vision going blurry for a second.

Stiles looked up to the only window in the room in the far right corner. The wooden frame was broken letting in the storm outside, a pile of soft white snow growing on the floor. His breath came out in little puffs of mist. Maybe he could try and climb out through the window. The opening looked big enough to fit in. A cold blast of wind reached him, the freezing air making his body twitch and shiver in a failed attempt to warm itself. 

Stiles tried to wiggle his toes and fingers. Just to make sure they were all there. After he felt unconscious those bastards could’ve done anything to him. Warm blood slid down his fingers from the rope cutting in his flesh the only warm thing he felt for days. Another painful breath made him remember his broken rib or ribs. He didn’t know how long he had been here nor why he was here. He was tortured daily. He tried to stay calm, tried to keep his breathing deep and not shallow and quick, a panic attack steady on the rise. He had to keep quiet. If the people who captured him knew he is awake they will beat him up until he faints again. They kept asking him the same questions over and over again, even if Stiles answered them he still got tortured.

When the dead pool came out it was a shock to all of them. Everybody had access to it, every single person around them could be a killer and they had no way of knowing that until a murder happens. They were the last ones to get a copy and always behind. Somehow Stiles figured out there were more parts than the one they had but they needed passwords and they were the only ones who didn’t have them, judging from the killing of people not on their list. All-day and night that’s all he would do think of random words and names and enter them on the website until one works.

When the killers came knocking on his window Stiles wasn’t expecting to be taken as well. It happened so fast. He heard the glass of his window breaking, thinking it was Scott at first. However, before he managed to turn around someone knocked him out. 


	2. Discovery

By the time Melissa McCall woke up from her night shift, the ground was already covered by a few inches of white fluffy snow. She stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, cradling a hot cup of coffee as she watched the snowfall.

A shiver ran up her body. She readjusted her knitted vest, closing it tighter around her. She had to change out of these pajamas if she didn’t want to catch a cold. Yet again the laundry had to be done before she could start on anything else. Scott had left some bloody clothes from training as he had put it. Those had to go first with some baking soda to dissolve the blood. However, the sheets needed an urgent wash and she couldn’t forget her nurse uniform for tonight.

Dinner needed to be started. There were some bills from last month that needed taking care of. Her car had to go to a mechanic to be check about the heating. And thinking about vehicles Scott must better be driving her car back from school and not that motor or he is going to be in serious trouble.

A chuckle forced itself out of her lips. She ran a hand through her messy curls. With everything going on at the moment – kids disappearing, dead pools, new hunters, and all she could think about was the laundry. She could really use a vacation, someplace tropical.

Melissa’s noon turned evening passed by in a daze. She ran through the chores around the house, put some delicious chicken and potatoes in the oven, and even managed to catch up on some reading. She was feeling really proud of herself. Time could never be enough around here but today she was once more stuck leaning against the counter with a hot cup in her hands and nothing to do. It must be something about the weather. The snow never felt so peaceful, so mesmerizing. A pleasant silence rang through her ears. The buzz of the appliances faded to the background, her thoughts giving way to the cozy view of her window, her eyes focusing on the snowflakes flying through the air.

The door slammed shut behind her. Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the house. Her breath stalled in her chest, heartbeat stopping for a second before exploding with wild hits. The cup slipped from between her fingers and crashed on the tile floor, grey ceramic pieces scattering. She screamed and turned around frightened from the intrusion.

“Mom! Are you OK?” Scott grabbed her by the shoulder. It was just Scott, back from school. Her eyes passed over to the clock on the wall over the fridge. How long had she stood there watching the snowstorm?

“Scott, you scared me!” Her hand slid over her heart. “I didn’t hear you come in.” The washer was filling up with water, working on those sheets, the constant buzz of the oven fan filled the kitchen, the low hum of the TV in the living room was carrying around the house. Even the annoying clock was tick-taking.

Melissa couldn’t wrap her thoughts over the past few hours. She was admiring the snow, chores, chores, chores, snow. Maybe the clock had hurried ahead. She felt like only a few minutes had passed not a few hours. 

“Let me help you with that.” Scott disappeared before returning with a broom. Melissa kneeled to gather some of the bigger pieces. Her hand passed over the ceramic handle before retrieving it quickly.

“It’s still hot!” How can it be still hot? It should be cold by now. Not after … 2 hours …

“You should rest more, mom.” Scott must have seen her confused face.

“If someone remembered to help out once in a while, maybe I will.” She poked him in the ribs, earning a small chuckle from her son.

“I will.” Scott got up to throw away the broken cup. 

“Any news about Stiles?” The poor boy has been missing for a week now. His father was going crazy trying to find him, especially with the snowstorm outside. Scott just shook his head no and stood up to leave.

Melissa glanced once more to the clock on the wall. She better hurry or she will be late for her shift at the hospital.

Her drive there was nothing but cold. Must fix the heat. No crashed cars in the snow. So it should be a slow shift for her, and that is exactly what she needed. A lot of people passed through emergency care these days. Fortunately, nobody has managed to crack the last page of the dead pool. Work had gotten slow for now.

Melissa had to park a few feet away from the hospital. The snowstorm had left the parking unusable, only a few spaces cleaned for ambulances. She even managed to fall into a big pile of snow. Her feet were soaking wet and freezing. Thankfully she had a spare change of shoes inside her locker and soaking her feet in hot water will do her good. By the time she went around to the reception, the day staff had left. It was only her now.

She blew on her steaming cup of coffee shivering a little. Her nose and fingers still red from the cold outside. Why did they need people for the graveyard shift in this weather was beyond her especially with how quiet it has been in the past few days.

Melissa rummaged through the pile of papers looking for some unfilled document or a patient needing care but the hospital was empty and that stack of papers needed no more of five minutes to be taken care of.

Outside the storm was still going on. Streets were covered with mountains of snow and more was coming down over them, people didn’t dare to go out, there was no traffic. Her gaze shifted over to the street lamps outside. She lingered in thought of her warm bed for a second before moving over to the awaiting papers.

The papers were alphabetized, the desk was cleaned spotless and she even sorted out the supply closet, and yet it was only a quarter after midnight. Melissa left out a dissatisfied groan. She could always take a short nap in the lounge area or maybe stalk a few of her old classmates on Facebook. If her memory was correct she had hidden an interesting crossword puzzle in the bottom shelf of the reception desk along with a few brownies.

She glanced once more outside. The flickering lamps grabbing her attention. There seemed to be a person walking slowly towards the entrance of the hospital.

She moved in front of the reception desk focusing on the person outside. They appeared to be limping, no jacket or coat. The man, she could see it was a man, looked familiar. Brown hair, pale skin …

“We need a stretcher! And blankets.” Melissa called out to the nurses near her. She ran to help them get the stretcher in time. The doors burst open. The man walked in, wearing only jeans and a shirt, no shoes, no sweatshirt, no coat, blues lips, rosy cheeks, not even shivering anymore. He fell down on the floor, exhausted by his walk in the storm.

“Hang in there, Stiles. We will take care of you.” Melissa rushed to his side. She helped raise him up on the stretcher. Stiles was covered in bruises, his right hand and fingers were broken, dry blood sticking to his skin and thorn clothes.

“Let’s get him inside an operating room.” She looked at the doctor next to her, pushing the stretcher to the north operating room. The operating staff hurried ahead of her to prep for surgery.


	3. Deception

Sheriff Noah Stilinski can say that he had seen many strange things throughout his life. From his early days working as a young policeman, trying to prove himself and succeed in this world, to raising a child alone, being promoted to the sheriff, and finally finding out about the supernatural world. He had to admit that was not a task that a man waiting to retire and play bingo all day can easily accept. Yet somehow with every passing year, Stiles managed to outdo himself with some crazy monster trying to destroy Beacon Hills.

His son seemed to be in the center of every bad thing that had come and gone in this city. Stiles was young and clever. He had an eye for the details, most likely developed by the numerous nights he stay up reading through the Sheriff's cases. He liked to organize the documents, move important evidence to the front, and leave a sticky note next to a tiny detail that can solve the whole case. It didn't help that he can bury himself in books, read countless useless pages before he finds that one sentence he needs to make sense of a new phenomenon in town. Stiles was curious and searching for a path of his own.

The day the Deadpool cane out was a disaster for the Sheriff. It not only revealed the many different creatures in Beacon Hills but also the many people in danger. There was some sick bastard who was giving money for the heads of innocent people, children even. People with who the Sheriff had shared many pleasant conversations, people who have organized charity events and helped out the community. The worst part was that he already lost a few good cops to the promise of quick money, corrupted and ready to kill just to secure a few nice days on the beach.

The Sheriff felt like he was being pulled from different directions. He had to protect so many lives. He had to remind himself that any one of his trusted friends and colleagues could up and kill someone. He had to find replacements for the cops he lost to greed. Finally, he had to help to decipher the rest of the Deadpool without having any idea about how big it could be and what the password could be, by interrogating people who were terrified and afraid and didn't know why they were being hunted.

He had fallen asleep amidst countless piles of paperwork when Scot McCall burst in. His office was quiet, the heater buzzing softly in the corner. There was a cold cup of coffee sitting forgotten on his desk and a sharp pain in his neck when he got startled at the intrusion. Scot was shaking, pale, eye wide, the chilly weather barely leaving his nose rosy. He looked ready to curl up and hide. A feeling that the Sheriff was ready to share when he heard what Scott had to say, what he had hurried here for. He stood there looking at him unable to completely understand what he was being told. Stiles gone, possibly kidnapped, possibly on the chase for new leads. The Sheriff hopped it was the last one. What was it that he had to do in these types of situations? The news about Stiles left him sitting on his desk, head in hands, wishing he could pour himself a glass of whiskey.

A team of policemen was sent to his house to search for any evidence that might be left behind. There was clothing scattered all over the floor, most likely from Stiles himself. The laptop had fallen asleep on a page about deciphering complicated codes. Broken glass from the window laid bloody on the floor. A ripped checkered fabric stuck to one of the pieces. The same fabric belonged to one of Stiles's many hoodies, that had fallen near the entrance to the woods a mile from the house. From there on the search continued in the forest. The whole lacrosse team joined the coach even. Lidia showed up, Stiles' friend or girlfriend, the Sheriff was more confused about that than the existence of werewolves. They used the shirt on tracking dogs. The scent, however, disappeared a couple of miles in the woods. Derek was running around at night when everyone was tired and needed to rest. There was a picture of Stiles in every police station, every station. Yet after weeks, the trail grew cold and people were starting to give up, to move to the next case. The Deadpool forgotten for a moment had not stopped.

Soon after Stiles's disappearance snow started to blow in, the temperature falling to a degree that no person can survive alone in the woods. There were documents scattered over the table, a half-empty bottle sitting next to a tumbled empty glass. The Sheriff was snoring lightly, asleep again on the kitchen table, the house unsettling silent. It was near one in the morning when the phone rang.

"Hello?" After a bit of fumbling around for the phone, the Sheriff managed to pick up. He peeled off a sticky note from his cheek.

"I mean you are speaking with Sheriff Stilinski." He yawned and stretched out his hands, popping the air out of his joints.

"It's Melissa McCall, Scots's mother? You have to come to the hospital fast. Stiles is in the operating room." The muffled voice of Melissa traveled throughout the room.

After that everything was a blur. The Sheriff couldn't recall how he got to the hospital. How he managed to go there after the amount of liqueur he consumed. He was standing in front of some random number operating room, holding a cup of coffee, his hands trembling. He was waiting for more than an hour now and no one has yet to come out and update him on Stiles's situation. Another nurse just ran in with a new bank of blood. On her way out he tried to stop her only to be scolded and ignored. In another half an hour he was contemplating flashing his badge and waving his gun.

"He is in good hands, you know." Melissa slid her hand over his knee.

The Sheriff looked at her. She was tired, bloody, safety mask around her neck. Melissa reached up to release her hair from a tight bun. She gestured towards the coffee in the Sheriff's hand before she grabbed it and took a big swig.

"They are just finishing up. Why don't you go to the waiting area?" She smiled at him. "I will be back after I clean up, with a new coffee for you."

"Stiles will be disappointed in me." His word stopped her from getting up.

"All I've been doing is drinking and going over documents about his disappearance. I've been falling asleep on the kitchen table, haven't been eating right." He felt her warm hand on his knee again.

"And today especially! I don't know what is it about today but something feels wrong with me. My chest feels constricted, my nerves have been eating me up. It's something in the air, I swear."

"I feel it too." Melissa interrupted him. Her voice was quiet as it should be at three in the morning inside a hospital.

"All day today I've been spacing out, imagining things that I have to tell myself isn't going to happen." She let out a shaky breath.

"I don't know. It must be a creature doing this. Something from that Deadpool." The Sheriff ended this conversation as he got up to go to the waiting area.

After a few hours Scott showed up with a few of Stiles' friends. Stiles was settled in a small private room, still asleep from the sedation. The Sheriff decided to grab a cup of hot coffee and returned to the room to see Derek conning out. He looked unsettled, a little confused, ready to run away from his son's room.

Inside the room Stiles was looking at him. He had a weak smile on his pale face. He couldn't move more than a few inches without flinching from pain. The important thing was that his son was alive and was going to be ok. The Sheriff could cry and he probably let a tear escape his watery eyes.

"The doctors said it will be a few more hours until you are awake." His voice wavered at the last word.

"Well, dad, I couldn't deprive you of my presence anymore." Beaten and bruised Stiles couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"He is healing pretty good." Melissa pulled him aside after a medical exam.

"Some of his bruises seem to have vanished, swelling around the broken bones has gone done." Melissa looked around. She took a step forward.

"Look, I am not saying it's not a good thing that he is healing, but ... He was kidnapped by werewolves, Derek said. You might want to keep an eye on him." Her voice was quiet, just above a whisper. The passing nurses and doctors, the ding from the elevator, a screeching wheel of a wheelchair all managed to muffle her even more.

After a few days Stiles was released from the hospital. His bones sticking together, barely a crack left to show the damage. The Sheriff wondered when would the next full moon be


	4. Confusion

Derek was standing outside of what appeared to once have been a house. Now what remained of it was just the ground floor. The second floor was framed only by two remaining brick walls. He walked around to the back of the house. A blast must have dug up the hole in the ground exposing the basement. He jumped inside. Looking around Derek couldn’t see much. There was a wooden chair propped up against one of the walls and stairs leading up. Taking in a deep breath he could smell Stiles here. The dry blood covering the chair, the fear radiating from the walls, the pain, and confusion disappearing through the opening and into the woods.

Derek followed the stairs up on the ground floor of the house. It was just as modestly decorated. The energy of a few wolfs melting away in the space. Stiles hadn’t been up here. Just the basement. There was nothing to show him who the wolfs are or where they went off to.

Derek returned back to the basement. There was something here. Closing his eyes, Derek tried to concentrate. Something was irritating the wolf inside him. The hole in the wall was emitting waves of intense power. Placing a hand against the bricks he felt it vibrating against his fingertips. His eyes flashing red, Derek retrieved his wolf's nails and fangs. His senses were screaming of danger, to run, to be frightened. The only thing Derek could feel was Stiles' scent.

His phone vibrated in his jacket’s pocket. Taking it out he saw it was Scott calling him and return his phone back into his jacket. Derek climbed out stepping in the snow around the house. He let his senses lead the way through the forest, following Stiles.

“What?” Derek growled into the phone's speaker when he felt it vibrating for the second time.

“Stiles is in the hospital.” Came Scotts’ quick reply. “He showed up last night.”

Stiles managed to escape. That was how Derek managed to pick up his scent. If he followed it through the woods he will end up in Beacon Hills, right in front of the hospital.

“I will be there in a few minutes.” Derek put away his phone and returned to his car, starting the engine and driving off.

He entered the hospital, ignoring the nurse at the reception and followed the trace to Stiles' room. Derek stopped just around the corner. His ears picking up on the conversation between the sheriff and a nurse.

“He just busted in through the doors last night. Poor thing has multiple fractions on his right arm and fingers, 3 ribs broken, a concussion. He is suffering from hypothermia, his limbs were exposed to the snow. He came in a t-shirt and jeans, no shoes no jacket.” Derek could hear the worried whisper. She stopped talking, her voice breaking towards the end.

“Has he been awake?” Came the sheriff’s tired voice. “I kept telling myself he got lost in the woods. It has happened before. I didn’t expect him to turn up like this.” The sheriff exhaled slowly, shifting his feet on the floor, a hand coming up to wipe his eyes.

“He came in conscious, hasn’t woken up after the surgery. We will keep monitoring him. Maybe give him a day to rest up. He has been through a lot.” Derek heard the nurse place her hand over the sheriff’s shoulder. “I am here if you need anything.”

Derek turned around, out of view from the nurse walking away. He saw the arrow to the waiting room and followed it there to meet up with Scott. The same strange energy was flowing around Stiles’ room. The same energy he felt at the house. There must have been more than wolfs there. If they managed to disappear without a trace, maybe a witch might have helped them.

“Derek, there you are.” Scott waved at him from across the room. “I called as soon as I found out.” Scott talked through the details he knew, repeating the same information as the nurse before.

Derek took the empty seat next to the banshee. His claws kept peeking in and out like a nervous twitch. He couldn’t focus on Scott’s blabbering. Stiles was on the other side of the wall. His mind ran over by nightmares, heartbeat unsteady, breathing fast. He was in pain and frightened. The strange energy, the one that scared the wolf inside Derek, was leaking out of the walls. Yet the only thing Derek could do was sit and wait to be allowed to go in.

The banshee next to him was curled up in her seat, her hands covering her face. She kept telling herself it will be all right. Her teeth sinking in her bottom lip, small trembles shaking up her body.

“Are you ok?” Derek reached out to place a reassuring hand on her back. She looked up from behind her hands, the scent of fright lessening. 

“ Yeah, I just …” She paused to take a deep breath. “I just have this feeling. I can’t exactly point it out. I felt it when I walked in the hospital” She shook her head, a few strands of hair falling in her eyes. “I am going to grab a coffee.”

She was feeling the same energy as him. At least Derek wasn’t going crazy.

Everybody had fallen asleep on the chairs waiting for Stiles to wake up. The sheriff stepped out of his room to grab a coffee when Derek saw a chance and took it. He stepped towards the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Here the smell was even stronger. Maybe that witch had done something to Stiles.

Derek placed a hand over Stiles’. He wanted to take away his pain.

“Hey, there!” Stiles cracked a smile. He shuffled over the bed, pushing himself up a little. His eyes fluttered open. A black void staring at Derek. “Where am I?” He blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes, looking around the room.

“You’re in the hospital.” Derek managed to get out. What did he just saw? “Let me get your dad.” Derek hurried to excuse himself. Stiles’ eyes were pitch black for a second. That smell weaker now that Stiles was awake.


	5. Revelation

"Dad, I’m fine!" Stiles fumbled around the blankets. When did his dad start tucking in the blanket’s edges under the bed legs?

"I am itchy but fine." He reached towards his plastered hand, trying to violently scratch himself with a chopstick. Could he fit in his finger in there? Maybe if he grew out his nails that will reach the spot.

His dad stood in the doorway to his room. He was carrying takeout, the closest to homecoming he can get. The Sheriff looked puzzled. The doctors said it will take a month for Stiles' hand to heal.

"I want to go to school already!" Stiles whined.

"I never thought I would say this, but you are not going to school. You just got out of the hospital a few days ago, plus you can’t go to the toilet alone. Who will unbutton your pants?" The Sheriff concluded just as Stiles gave up on trying to scratch his hand.

By the time the Sheriff went to work, Stiles was asleep. A full bag of medication was lying on the floor next to his bed. It crinkled under the weight of Stiles' comforter, pushed over by his relentless tossing around. His hands were twitching by his side, legs preparing to run.

He slumped over in the chair taken over by a coughing fit. Mean wolf with no neck carried a heavy punch, Stiles’ ribs made a good punching bag. The chair restricted his movement, the ropes biting in his skin, rubbing his flesh raw. Stiles couldn’t feel his left hand anymore. The wolf that looked like a wardrobe had taken great pleasure in explaining every bone and knuckle that formed Stiles’ arm. Yet unlike Mr. Harley from Anatomy class, that used a pointer, this wardrobe used a hammer. To be more precise, a sledgehammer used to break up concrete. If Stiles ever got a house and needed someone to remodel he knew who to call.

Stiles was feeling nauseous, maybe from the amount of blood that had pooled under his arm, maybe from the way he didn’t shiver anymore when the wind was crawling up his bare shoulders. He liked to think he got used to the coldness inside the room. On the bright side, he had the pile of snow a few feet from him that he could talk to. They were best friends now. Stiles declared it.

“Look, man, he’s worthless.” Stiles could hear No Neck at the top of the stairs.

“He obviously doesn’t know anything. Let’s kill him and get whatever amount of money we can get for him.” No Neck suggested.

Ok. Not good! So not good! The pain in his chest flared up again. Stiles can’t die now. For sure someone is close and will rescue him. He needed some more time. Stiles couldn’t take a deep breath in, a cough wrenching itself out of his aching lungs, blood filled up his mouth. Breathe, Stiles, just breathe. 

"Stiles, wake up"! His cheek was stinging.

He knew the two wolves were beating him up. Painful punches landing over his tender skin. Yet, Stiles couldn’t focus enough to at least wiggle on the chair, try and move away from them, fall backward or struggle. The room was spinning around him. Everything was being overtaken by a cloud of black smoke.

“Wake up!” The loud snap of wind hitting against the brick walls filled up the room.

"It's just a nightmare." Another sharp slap was delivered to his cheek.

"Wake up, Stiles!" Stiles jolted up. He was breathing heavy, blinking out the darkness from his eyes.

"Dude, I don't like the pills you're taking. You smell strange." Scott didn't notice the sudden change.

“Down, boy. I had enough of people sniffing me.” Stiles commented, letting his head hit the wall behind him.

Behind Scott, on his desk, his notebooks and pens, his laptop, they were vibrating, riding out the last trembles before they settled down. Now that he looked around, his whole room seemed messed up. Everything had shifted a few inches away from its usual place.

“I’m just saying your vibe is messed up.” Scott continued. “Ever since you got back, you know.”

“Yeah, an of the grid retreat to a cabin in the woods will do that to a person.” Stiles smiled at Scott. “Fuck, my ribs hurt.”

“You want me to ...” Scott reached forward to place a hand over the aching bones.

“Yes, better than pills!” Stiles slid down in the bed, a content smile resting on his face. Scott withdrew his hand, the pain disappearing along the veins in his arm.

They stayed like that for the next few minutes. Stiles might have dozed off at one point. When he opened his eyes again the sun was an orange ball ready to hide below the window frame. Scott was lying in the bed next to him, a pillow tucked beneath his chest as he played with his phone.

“Derek thinks there might have been a witch with you.” Scott turned on his back to face Stiles, once he noticed he was awake.

Scott seemed serious, scared. Maybe he was reading up on witches before Stiles woke up. He kept fumbling with his phone, turning it around and around, sliding his fingers over the edges. There was more than what he had just shared with Stiles. Scott glanced at him, then looked back at his phone swallowing hard, contemplating whether to continue or not.

“We can’t find the werewolves that capture you. The witch might have helped cover their tracks.” Finally, Scott spoke up.

The next few days Stiles spent in his room, trying to find something to scratch his arm with and reading old comic books. His dad had cleared the house of any electronics with access to the internet. He even took the batteries out of the TV control to discourage Stile from watching any news and local channels. Stiles was ashamed to admit it but he was too lazy to get up and change the channel manually every time he got bored of something. The Sheriff had even put away any old police case file lying around the house. Stiles searched, thoroughly.

On a dark, snowy afternoon Stiles was stuck on the golfing channel. His mind kept going back to the conversation he overheard. Alphas and money, why would they get money for his head? The gang was trying to figure out the Deadpool before Stiles got kidnapped. Could he be part of the Deadpool? Is that why the werewolves will receive money if they turned Stiles in? And who might be above him if they were willing to keep him alive for so long?

The lights in the hallway kept flickering on and off. The TV rolled between channels before losing signal and settling on grey static. The wind roared outside, bashing against the windows when the electricity cut out. The room fell quiet, darkness settling all over drawing Stiles out of his thoughts. With a sigh, he got up and went to check on the fuses.

The front door clicked opened to heavy footsteps over the wooden floors. A hard thud echoed through the house followed by soft murmurs of a person cussing the kitchen table. Stiles could hear the person coming closer to the storeroom. Luckily he had closed the door behind him. Stiles looked around, feeling about in the room for something that he can use as a weapon. Stiles stopped. The intruder was in front of the storeroom now. His heart was hammering against his ribs, hands lifted up, ready to fight. The door slung opened, fear washing over Stiles. A gush of wind rushed against him and the intruder hit the opposite wall. 

“Scott, I am so sorry!” Stiles rushed to help Scott up. The lights were back on.

“I’m fine.” Scott looked at Stiles. “Dude, your eyes, they are ...“ Scot started to say but couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Let’s go sit you down. I am worried you might be seeing things.” Stiles nudged Scott in the direction of the living room.

Just as they entered, a cold splash of water hit Stiles’ face. He blinked a few times and reached up with his hands to clean the water out of his eyes. Now that he could see again, he found the source of the water. Derek was standing in front of him, a small plastic bottle with a church sticker in his hand.

“What the hell, man?!” Stiles glared at Derek. “What is that? And why does it sting?” Stiles rubbed at the irritated skin, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Holy water.” Derek unleashed the caterpillars on Stiles.

“We are doing research on what supernatural creature you are.” Malia got up from the couch and wiped stiles eyes clean with a wet towel.

Now that Stiles could see properly everyone was here. Lidia, Scott, Derek, Malia were sitting on the couch. The dusty old books from Derek’s library set down on the coffee table. They even brought pizza. Stiles didn’t realize he was hungry until he saw food.

“And why does your research include water boiled with silver to which I am allergic?“ Stiles reached for the delicious smelling box of heaven. Truthfully he wasn’t allergic to silver. He didn’t know why his skin reacted to the holy water. He wasn’t ready to share just yet with everyone.

“Taking in consideration that werewolves kidnapped you, it is safe to assume that it was because of the Deadpool.” Lidia snapped at Stiles. “You miraculously escape and then proceed to heal in a couple of days.” She pointed at his hand.

It seemed that everyone had reached the same conclusion as Stiles. A second glance towards the table and Stiles could see the dreadful holy water, garlic, silver, the bible, and light bulbs. Anything that may help them in finding out what exactly Stiles is. He smiled at them and took another bite out of his pizza, turning to grab a book to hide his eyes filled with black. Stiles knew exactly what he was.


	6. Thruth

“Why so cold, man?” Stiles was standing in the middle of Derek’s living room, hot puffs of air coming out of his mouth as he spoke. He shoved his hands deeper in his jacket’s pockets as another shiver moved through his body.

Stiles looked around. Obviously, Derek had tried to renovate the old house. It was in a better condition than he remembered it. All holes were patched up, missing floorboards were restored, a new coat of paint on the walls, brighter, cleaner, and a nice couch to sit on near the fireplace. Derek did good with the house, honoring his family by restoring it.

“Did you hire an interior designer? Preferably, it was someone who has a better taste than you.” Stiles checked at his phone. The text from Derek asking him to come was still open on his screen.

Derek entered the living room. He was carrying a few dusty old books, which he set down on the coffee table. He glanced as Stiles then at his feet and proceeded to open the books on selected pages. There was a silver chain hanging from his jeans pocket. He raised an eyebrow when Stiles tried to move. The whole time he didn’t utter one word.

“Do I smell bored? I thought you pups can smell boredom.” Stiles yawned. “Can I go now?”

“You can’t leave.” Derek barked at him. Finally gracing him with his lovely social skills.

“Why not?” Stiles whined. If he was forced to stay at least it should be warm in the room. That was a basic rule in inviting guests over. He wouldn’t reject food either.

“Because of this.” Derek moved around to stand at the edge of the carpet. He bent over and pulled it across the floor, from under Stiles’ feet, to reveal a five-pointed pentagram. Latin words formed the circle around the edges of the star, while in the middle it stood empty, making room for Stiles. 

Stile bent down. He ran his fingers over the drawing. Derek had painted it on instead of using chalk. Smart! This way Stiles couldn’t erase a letter or a word. He moved his attention back at Derek wanting to see what might come next.

“I know what you are, Stiles!” Derek’s voice reached his ears.

“Say it!” He looked at Derek expectantly. “Why am I quoting Twilight?” Stiles frowned.

“A demon, Stiles, you are a demon.” Derek’s eyes flashed red for a second. “And that on the floor will stop you from moving until you answer all of my questions.” Derek pointed at the white paint under Stiles’ shoes.

“What makes you so sure that I am what you say I am?” Stiles smiled at Derek.

“It didn’t take you more than a week to heal. The full moon passed and you didn’t turn.” Derek picked up one of the books on the table, turning it so Stiles can see. ”Not a banshee, Lidia is certain. A witch can’t use her power on herself.” Derek flipped the pages of the book, showing drawings of the creatures he talked about.

“You go through a near death experience and cause an explosion big enough to burst a wall. Only one thing fits, Stiles” Derek concluded, finally turning to the last page in the book.

“So how did you do it? You showed up and made a deal with Stiles or you have been here since the Nogitsune?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked at Derek. He looked relentless, not going to give up so easily, and let Stiles walk out of here with ought some answers. There was no clear path that Stiles can take and escape. With a deep sigh, he stepped out of the pentagram and walked over to the couch, and flopped down. At the same time, Derek’s hand moved to the silver chain in his pocket. When he took it out Stiles could see a small cross dangling at the end.

“Oh, please do an exorcism. Maybe then I will get some good hours of sleep.” Clearly, he was mocking Derek.

“That art homework on the floor, you have to do it with blood in order to work. Preferably you want to use yours. That way I would be connected with you. No way to escape.” Stiles pushed around the books on the table. Buried at the bottom was a small Latin Bible.

"Here, to go with the cross!" Stiles handed him the Bible.

Derek looked at him incredulously. A second later he reached over and grabbed the book from Stiles. His gaze slipped down, contemplating over reading a few Latin verses, to check if it will have any effect over Stiles. Finally, he decided against it and threw the book on the table with the rest of the others. He noticed that Stiles followed his every move.

“I guess during that night, something in me just snapped.” Stiles' eyes turned black at the memory. “This was already in me. Same Stiles as before, with some upgrades. I promise.” Stiles smiled up at Derek, his red eyes mirroring Stiles.

"I am still trying to figure it out. It's all very new. I managed to contain my aura or smell, whatever you want to call it." Stiles grinned, clearly proud of himself. " I could really use your help."

With that, Derek set the cross down. This was Stiles, the same skinny, defenseless Stiles. Yeah, he will help him. After all, Alfa's should always help with the smooth transition of a pack member. He sat down beside Stiles and picked up the bestiary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter everyone. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr: https://ilaizatxt.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on tumblr: https://ilaizatxt.tumblr.com/


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